


Happy New Year

by NoxNoctua



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22420336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoxNoctua/pseuds/NoxNoctua
Summary: Aziraphale invites Crowley to move with him to a quaint cottage in the South Downs. New Years is just around the corner, and given everything they've been through, it only seems right to celebrate it. Now that they're free of the bonds of Heaven and Hell, maybe they can finally confess their true feelings to each other. If either of them musters up the courage to make the first move, that is.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a WIP, likely to be around three chapters. Also, I don't have a beta-reader proper, but I was lucky enough to get someone to give this a proofread and another to provide some editing notes on a portion of it. Also, I didn't have anyone to Britpick anything here so hopefully there aren't any egregious errors!
> 
> This is my first time getting to fanfic since I was a teenager! I've been so inspired by other fics written by this fandom, and by an ongoing RP with my best friend, that I knew I wanted to jump into the fold.
> 
> Finally, the rating will change to Explicit as I intend to write a sex scene between these two. I'll give warning in the notes so folks have a heads up!

Three months. Three months since the end of the world. But it was still spinning now, hurtling through space, making one more orbit around the sun. Against all odds, it was still solid and whole, continued to provide ground for its occupants.

Three months ago summer had drawn to a close. Heat transitioned to cool breezes, leaves faded from lively green to warm orange, red, yellow, and fuschia.

Three months ago, Aziraphale and Crowley had swapped bodies, narrowly avoided annihilation, declared they were on their own side now, and laughed about it over a champagne toast at The Ritz. They’d enjoyed a triumphant meal then, indulged on wine and stumbled through St. James’s Park, sharing another bottle between them, and then stumbled right on over to Soho.

Aziraphale had invited Crowley in. Not an unusual gesture by any means. But the air between them had been different that night. There was an electric energy that bounced between them, especially after the alcohol had started to addle their brains and make words loose in their mouth.

Summer was holding onto its last heat and the night air carried on it a warm breeze. Aziraphale had stood at the entrance of his shop, his home, let the wind flirt with the hem of his jacket. It wasn’t just heat that coasted on the air, but scent. The bouquet of the city wasn’t pleasant, but as it coasted around Crowley’s waist, trailed delicately over the length of his neck and through the thin material of his henley, it caught up the smell of  _ him _ , carried  _ that  _ on its currents and straight into Aziraphale’s senses.

Aziraphale had been taken aback by it. He could taste cherry and vanilla in his mouth, smell musk and sweat in his nose, feel cool heat evaporating the sweat where his neck met his collar.

He had taken a step forward that night, closed the distance more than they had in recent memory. One hand was outstretched, arm bent at the elbow. “The night is still young. Come inside? I have an excellent tempranillo from —“

“Not tonight, angel. I — it’s been a  _ long  _ day. I’m going to sleep…for a while. I’ll phone, just make sure you pick up.”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly and nodded, “Yes. Of course. You’re right. We both need our rest. Don’t keep away for too long.”

Crowley smiled stiffly at him in response and left Aziraphale there at his doorstep.

Three months had passed since then. Three months since Aziraphale felt that inexorable draw to the demon. Three months since he felt pulled to him like moth to flame, like the opposite end of a magnet. Three months since the scent of Crowley had hung so high in the air, had filled his awareness completely, blanketed the functioning parts of his mind with a distinct feeling of  _ want  _ and _ need. _

That isn’t to imply that Aziraphale hadn’t felt want and need when it came to Crowley, but the angel was exceptionally good at compartmentalizing. He was very good at bricking up over the parts of his brain that introduced inconvenient thoughts and truths. 

The one thought he couldn’t keep bricked up anymore was: if we’re on our own side, we should really be  _ on our own side  _ now, right? Heaven clearly didn’t care about the humans or the earth and certainly not Aziraphale or his angelic reputation, and Hell had similar thoughts as it concerned Crowley. So what was the risk anymore?

They’d  _ almost actually died.  _ What unfathomable level of regret would Aziraphale have suffered through if Crowley had  _ actually died  _ and he’d never a chance to be honest with him? To express what he desperately wanted? That he desperately wanted Crowley? What if his last thought had been, while stepping into a pillar of hellfire, ‘Crowley, I love you, for now and forever’?

It had been such an impossibly close reality that Aziraphale could not bear to think on it for long. So he had not.

Aziraphale was a creature of worry though. He had a tendency to carefully weigh his choices, think of all potentialities, agonize over the worst ones, and then when he  _ finally  _ settled on something, dive headlong right into it.

He was nearing the point of diving in, but it still made him nervous. What if he’d misread Crowley’s signals? What if “going off together” were just a clever escape plan and way for Crowley to avoid loneliness, having nothing at all to do with Aziraphale on a personal level?

_ That _ was an agonizing thought. A one-sided love. A river that flows out into the ocean and eventually dries up, unreciprocated by snowmelt or rainfall. A dry river bed carved into the earth. But at least that river had nurtured the surrounding land, fed the plants on the banks of it. And that had to be a good thing, didn’t it? It gave, even if it meant it also slowly withered away?

Aziraphale would give as much as he could if it meant nurturing Crowley, even if the pain of a love unrealized slowly ate away at his heart.

But three months is a damned long time, an entire season, one-fourth of the year. And London is a loud, odorous place. And there are so many humans with their human feelings that it permeates the air and swirls around the city smells and the city sounds in some kind of grotesque cocktail of modernity. 

Aziraphale had never been particularly modern. He needed to get away. Who knows for how long, who really cares. Time is immaterial for immortals.

So he phoned up Crowley (who did not call him, as he had said he would three months prior). When the ringing ceased, Aziraphale, accustomed to a certain rhythm with the demon, immediately broke into speech.

“I know you said you’d phone but it’s been three months now. I agree that’s it good for us to maintain some safe distance in the aftermath of everything, but don’t you think it’s been long enough?”

There had been a long stretch of silence. No recorded instruction of Crowley’s voice saying to leave messages with style. No immediate response of a live voice.

Aziraphale pulled the receiver back from his ear and looked at it skeptically, followed the cord to see if the silence could be attributed to some malfunction of technology.

Finally, “Hey angel. Sorry. Just woke up. What was that?” The sleep still echoed in his voice.

“Ah. Yes. Good morning, my dear. I hope you had a nice nap. Anyways, I was thinking we could,” he paused, doubting himself, and then continued with a steeling of nerves, “go off together? Somewhere quiet? Out to the country, maybe?”

“Uhm.” There was a bit of a groan. 

Aziraphale swallowed hard. Had he made the wrong move? He wanted to hang up the receiver and crawl in a hole somewhere.

Crowley continued, “Sorry. Just woke up. Yeah. I think that sounds nice. Why the…why the change of heart?” A three-month aged reference to his desperate pleas for interstellar escape.

Aziraphale laughed nervously, “Well, the circumstances are quite different now, as you can imagine. I… I dare say that I’m a bit… I’m growing a bit weary of the city. I think I might appreciate some fresh air and quiet, and I can’t imagine better company than you.”

Another delayed response. Why was Crowley being so  _ hesitant _ ? It had always been either yes or no or maybe or tell me why, all stated and asked confidently. This caginess made Aziraphale extremely worried, made him doubt the whole phone call.

There was an inhale, “Yeah. Let’s do that. D’you have some place picked out already?”

Aziraphale looked at the listing in his hand, swallowed again around his nerves. “As a matter of fact, I do. In the South Downs. Off the coast. Looks a lovely place. Not far from Brighton in case we want to pop into a city, but just far enough to not be bothered. Storrington is a village to the north and seems a nice and pleasant place.”

“That’s great, angel. When do we go?”

“Oh. Well. I. I need some time to pack my books and…” He trailed off. His heart was a flutter in his throat and even though Aziraphale had asked for this, had wanted it, the reality of it was another thing entirely and he found himself floundering.

“We’ll just magic them down, yeah? No sense in trying to do something as awful as  _ moving  _ the human way.”

“Yes. But aren’t you worried about…you know  _ who  _ noticing?”

“No. They’ll leave us well enough alone for a while. If they want to audit our miracles, let them. We’ll give them a real show of it, even. Miracle in a sex cult.”

“I’m sorry,  _ a what?! _ ” Aziraphale was aghast.

Crowley laughed into the phone and lo it was a beautiful, throaty thing that melted Aziraphale’s anxieties away. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. We’ll be fine. Let’s be out of here before the week is out, yeah? I’ve only a few things. I can be over tomorrow to help?”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to hesitate. 

“…angel?”

“Yes. Yes tomorrow. Evening? I need to take care of a few things first.”

“I’ll see you then.”

The phone clicked and the call ended.

Aziraphale replaced the receiver back in the cradle and stared down at the phone.

It had worked? Crowley had accepted his invitation? Just like that? No game of twenty questions, no pushing back against the idea? They were going to…live together? In the quaintness of the country? By the sea?

Yes. Aziraphale supposed that is precisely what they were going to do.

———————

Crowley had done just as he said he would (he was always good for his word). He’d come to the bookshop that evening and bit-by-bit they miracled Aziraphale’s books to the cottage he’d acquired. The angel struggled to detach from his creature comforts, so other little personal bits-and-bobs had come along as well.

The drive itself wasn’t long and traffic was remarkably good (because Crowley wanted it to be). Barely an hour and forty minutes and they were pulling down a long, dirt drive that curved in front of a small, stone cottage.

The cottage itself faced the sea. It sat back from chalk cliffs that ended in sandy beach and the steady, pulse-like roll of the ocean. A full moon illuminated the white crest of gentle waves. In the middle of winter, it wasn’t exactly beach weather but it was a serene vision nonetheless and the hush and roar of the moving tide was peaceful.

Trees were sparse and the countryside opened out behind them in wide, rolling hills. If you looked hard enough, you might even be able to see the lights of Storrington from such vantage.

The cottage, or Eden as they had decided to call it over fits of laughter during their drive down, was short and stone. It was a humble building, one floor only, with a tall garden wall that wrapped around the side of it. There were the signs of overgrowth and Aziraphale watched as Crowley assessed it from a distance.

A chill wind blew off from the ocean and Aziraphale and Crowley shivered.

“Let’s get inside, angel.”

So they did, hurriedly ducking into Eden with Aziraphale opening the lock with a key and Crowley rolling his eyes at the angel’s insistence for manual operation.

The interior was decidedly cozy. Or, it would be, if they could see in the pitch dark of night.

“Let there be light!”

With an accompanying snap of fingers, a glowing ball filled the center of the space. Aziraphale looked sheepishly over at Crowley who gave him an admonished look.

“Really? ‘Let there be light’? Bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Crowley drew his hand up with a snap and the ball of light disappeared at the same time that a fire roared to life in the corner hearth.

There was a small kitchen in the corner, a little space for a dining table, that corner hearth, and a few doors that led off to what were presumably the toilet, washroom, bedroom, and closets.

A small, wide window opened over the sink in the kitchen that looked out over the rolling waves. Other windows lined the walls, the glass slightly warped in some that gave a wobbly, distorted look to the world outside.

A pile of books dwarfed an entire wall. Plants crowded out another.

Aziraphale wrung his hands and peered over at Crowley, scanning his expression for judgement. “What do you think?”

“It’s cozy. Tight quarters. Uhm.” Crowley chewed at his lip.

“…uhm?” Aziraphale pushed him on.

“How many bedrooms are in this place, angel?”

“Oh.”

“Mm. Right. Just the one then. S’alright. I’ll take the couch,” he declared nonchalantly and stepped further into the cottage to examine the kitchen.

Aziraphale watched his back for a moment before piping up, “No, Crowley. Don’t be ridiculous. We can share one bedroom, I’m certain there’s space for two beds.” And to prove his point, he marched to one of the doors on the back wall, opened it, and stepped through into a small bedroom barely big enough for a queen-sized bed.

There was silence from the bedroom and Crowley peered over his shoulder expectantly. “…well? How is it?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat before responding, his voice a touch too quiet to hear.

“What was that?” Crowley asked impatiently, both eyebrows raising.

“Ah, uhm, ahem. Sorry. Yes. The bedroom is quite… Err. It’s a quaint space, really,” he replied, now standing in the doorway and looking sheepish.

Crowley turned fully to face him, still standing in the kitchen. He crossed his arms across his chest, shifted his weight to one foot, and looked at Aziraphale with a look of such deep skepticism that the angel began wringing his hands again in response.

“Quaint? Really? That’s the sort of thing I’d expect to hear a sleazy real estate agent say, not an angel.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but huff and roll his eyes at that. He stepped into the main room, rolled his shoulders with a bit of his own impatience.

“Listen, Crowley, really. You should have the bedroom. Sleeping is rather a hobby for you, and while I don’t mind it to pass the time, I won’t miss having a bed to sleep in. I always have plenty to read. I won’t be bored or bothered.”

Crowley stared at him long and hard, let them both stew in an uncomfortable silence. Aziraphale let his hands fall to his side, pulled into loose fists, and stared right back.

Finally Crowley relented with a sigh, dropping his folded arms and straightening out his stance. “Alright. Fine. But,” he paused, searching for words, “if you…can’t be comfortable, we’ll have to work something else out. Won’t do to have you out here cold and tossing and turning or…whatever.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. There was a warm bloom of affection in his chest but he tamped it down. “Yes, of course, my dear. I assure you I’ll be just fine but if it becomes unbearable than we can rethink this arrangement.” He almost faltered with use of that heavily loaded word.

Crowley nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned back around to face the kitchen. He felt along the butcher block counters with his fingers. “I like it,” he said quietly and then spoke up, turning around to lean against the counter, “We should…”

Aziraphale, who was leaning over a stack of books to inspect, peered over at him. “Hmm?”

Crowley’s face twisted up in self-doubt and there was a long pause before he continued, “We should…get some furniture in here. Make it feel more like…a home, and not some place we’re borrowing over on holiday.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Aziraphale responded with a smile. He began fussing with the books again, now speaking to Crowley from over his shoulder, “It might take some time, I’m afraid. Anything delivered from Brighton will likely need to be scheduled out and honestly, I’m uncertain what Storrington will have. Perhaps some nice antiques? But I don’t want to crowd you out with my sensibilities. We’ll both be here, therefore the cottage should reflect it.”

There was a tightness in Crowley’s chest and he crossed his arms over it as if the angel might see the way that his consideration had affected him. “Ah, yeah. Yeah. That would be nice. Bit small to accommodate much, I think. But…we can try.”

“Yes, my dear, we can try,” Aziraphale replied with some distraction as he took stock of his books.

Crowley chewed the inside of his lip. He watched the hunched figure of Aziraphale, the way his jacket was a cape around him, the way his expression changed with an unspoken internal dialogue full of fuss, no doubt.

No. No. They couldn’t just be in this cold and empty house. The place had potential, a lot of it as a matter of fact. The wood was warm and the stone was solid and comforting. Crowley pictured a low fire in the hearth, snow falling outside, and him and Aziraphale cozied up on a single couch.

The image settled so easily in his mind that it was a long moment before he realized what fantasy he’d allowed himself. His heart skipped a bit and he had to breathe in deep through his nose to shake away the surprise of it.

It wasn’t surprising in-and-of-itself that Crowley experienced such fantasies, but he’d been very practiced at keeping them at bay when he was in the physical presence of Aziraphale. That was easy to do when they tended to spend long stretches of time apart, but recent events had made that more difficult. He didn’t always go to sleep thinking of the angel (long stretches of time apart will allow oneself that small momentary freedom) but absence makes the heart grow fonder and with every subsequent, extended meeting, Crowley was finding more of his dreaming thoughts occupied by blonde hair and blue eyes.

When Aziraphale had invited him to the South Downs, when he insisted they needed to get away from the city, Crowley was delighted. But he had to play it cool, keep calm. The angel was as skittish as a bird (and sometimes just as flighty) and Crowley often felt that he needed to be a grounding force in Aziraphale’s life (which perhaps was a bit tall of a pedestal for the demon to place himself in, since Aziraphale felt quite the same in reverse). What Crowley hadn’t considered is what being in such close quarters would do to his heart, would do to his dreams, would do to the imaginative little picture shows he sometimes played in his mind.

He swallowed a lump down in his throat. It would be fine. This would be fine.

But firstly. This place had to be a home, at least.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve an idea. You’re right, getting things shipped here will take too long. Let me…take care of the place. I think I have a good enough sense of you by now to make it something you’ll like.”

Aziraphale stood up and looked over at him skeptically, “What do you mean let you ‘take care of the place’?”

Crowley shook his head, “I know you’re not a fan of pulling clothes and furniture and the like straight from the firmament and I’m not saying I’ll do that. But I think you should go visit Storrington, see if they have any nice pubs or restaurants we can pop into from time-to-time, and when you come back this place will be a home and you’ll be none the wiser as to how it all came to be.”

Aziraphale looked unmoved, so Crowley continued, this time a little more hurriedly, “You…you can pop on over to Storrington, just a little miracle to get you there. And then later I’ll  _ drive  _ to come get you and drive us back. That’s plenty of time for you to suspend disbelief.”

There was a long pause before Aziraphale finally responded. His expression had changed into one belonging to someone who wanted to be convinced to do something they might not normally agree to. “I…suppose you’re right. There’s…some exploration needed of the neighboring areas. Brighton is…not quite my speed for a solo jaunt. Perhaps I’ll find something in Storrington to bring back here, even. Maybe even a book,” he finished with a nervous laugh.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses, “Please angel, if you bring back anymore books than I think we’ll be making the furniture out of  _ them _ .” 

Furniture made out of books? Well that couldn’t be too bad, could it? Aziraphale shook the daydream from his mind and gave the main living area one more sweeping look. “When shall I schedule my visit, then?”

“Tonight. Go tonight. Treat yourself to dinner, look into a few antique stores, chat up some mums and their babies, and tonight we’ll christen our freshly furnished home with a bottle of wine.” Crowley realized with a bit of panic that he’d used ‘our home’ instead of ‘the home’ or ‘the cottage’ or ‘this place we’re just getting away to and aren’t planning to be in forever.’ He swallowed down the hot wave of anxiety.

Thankfully Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice, or at least he didn’t let on otherwise. He just nodded absentmindedly, still looking around the unfurnished space, and worried at the length of his fingers. “Yes. Alright. I’ll trust you to it. It’s rather a shame to have dinner alone.” He realized a little too late that the unspoken thought ‘It’s a shame to have dinner without you in particular’ was being broadcast through his eyes.

Crowley smiled at him kindly, “I know, angel. Tomorrow. We’ll have breakfast together. Won’t that be worth the wait?”

Aziraphale felt the quickening of his pulse. Oh. There was a certain kind of tenderness in Crowley’s assurance. It sent butterflies to his stomach and made his skin tingle.

“Yes. Most assuredly,” he replied with a nervous swallow.

There was a brief panicked moment of thought where Aziraphale wondered what he’d been thinking. He wondered how he’d become so bold as to invite Crowley to live with him, how he’d even managed to not consider the actual logistics of existing together in a shared space. It made his palms sweat and the roof of his mouth dry.

He realized he was grabbing the ends of his fingers so tight that the skin was turning white around them. He needed some space. The trip to Storrington was well-timed, even at this late hour. If he needed to convince some shopkeepers or pub owners to stay up just a little later, just for him because he’d be ever-so-grateful, then he could find himself amenable to that.

Aziraphale nodded resolutely. “Well. I’ll be off then. Try not to dally. It’s rather late for these village types, you know.”

“I’ll take only the precise amount of time I need and then I’ll be off to get you. Just enough time for you to eat someplace nice so you can tell me about it afterward.”

There. Again. There was that tenderness. Something soft and warm carried in Crowley’s words and on his voice. Something hidden just below the surface and behind dark glasses worn indoors and at night.

Aziraphale felt the twist in his stomach of anxiety, of uncertainty and doubt. Right. Time to go.

With a downward snap of his fingers, the angel was gone. When he reappeared in the middle of Storrington's village center, no one seemed to notice.

Crowley pushed himself off from the kitchen counter and stepped into the middle of the space. With one last sweeping look, he pulled his hand up, fingers poised thumb against index.

“Alright, angel. Get ready to be cozy.”

_ Snap. _

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Leave me a comment with your thoughts. You can also find me being obsessive about Good Omens over on Tumblr (noxiraphale).


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